


Red in Tooth and Claw

by TruantPony



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruantPony/pseuds/TruantPony
Summary: “You and I...we are beasts.  What is in me, calls to what is in you.” Nil says, as he runs his teeth along a tendon in her neck.  Aloy finds that she can’t quite disagree.All their meetings tend to involve blood and violence.





	Red in Tooth and Claw

It’s after the third bandit camp or maybe the fourth (she really, _really_ doesn’t keep count), that she sees Nil, the Carja hunter again on the dry dusty roads of the Sundom.  He’s trading arrows with a bandit archer, hardly bothering to dodge out of the way of the return volleys.  As Aloy spurs her Strider forward, she idly wonders who had done the ambushing. 

The bandit archer looks up in the middle of drawing his bow.  There’s a momentary flail of surprise and then he goes down under metallic hooves with a wet crunch.  After that, there’s only stillness and the coppery smell of blood. 

“You stole my kill!” Nil calls to her.  Despite the words, he seems pleased to see her as he trots over, easy confidence in his gait.  He stops a few paces shy of her Strider, his eyes on its bloody hooves with a look that could only be described as envy.  “And you didn’t even rob me with your own hands.” 

Aloy dismounts, spares a brief glance at the trampled bandit, and notes the wounds she didn’t inflict.  “You were playing around.”

“Drawing out the fight,” Nil agrees.  “I like to make it last.”  This is said with a sigh.

Aloy should feel chilled by his words, but he has never made any effort to hide what he is.  So instead, she merely feels exasperated.  She realizes that somehow, she has gotten used to his idiosyncrasies, his bloodlust, and courtesy.  It can’t be a good thing. 

She crouches down by the slain man and searches his pockets for resources. 

“You don’t like to draw it out, do you?” Nil asks, crouching too, with his arms resting across his knees. His eyes drift over the cooling corpse and the pooling blood. 

“No, because I want to live,” she says as she pockets the wire, a handful of shards, and some slagshine glass.  Her focus finds five more dead bodies scattered around and she reads the signs of intense battle.   “Do that once too often, and you’ll wind up dead.”

Nil looks up from his introspection of the corpse and tilts his head, considering her.  This close, she can see the tiny specks of blood scattered across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones like rust-red freckles.  “A fight is meant to be savored.  Where there is no doubt of victory, there is no challenge.  It’s the spear at your throat, the arrow speeding towards your heart, that makes your blood race, your pulse pound.  It’s the thrill of death that makes one feel alive.”

Aloy presses her lips together in stern line.  “Living is what makes me feel alive.” 

“You’re an odd one,” Nil says.  His gaze lingers too long on her face, silver eyes bright with an intensity that makes her nerves sing with a warning of danger. 

She shakes the feeling off, huffs out a deep sigh, and stands.  “I really don’t want to hear that from someone like you.” 

“Now, now, don’t be offended.”  The corner of his mouth turns upward in a crooked grin.  “I meant that as a compliment."

“Thanks?  I guess…”  Something deep within her objects to being called odd, perhaps the part of her that has always been an outsider.  Her fingers tangle restlessly in the blue cords of her Strider as she scans the horizon.  

The sun has set and night is slinking across the landscape.  There are no mountains in middle of the Sundom.  Just dusty roads and canyons broken up by flat topped mesas, scrub brush, paint brush sage.  Out here, there are few places to hide and the new machines are big and fierce, striding like proud old gods under the unrelenting sun of the Carja territories.  The landscape is lonesome, bleak but still beautiful, especially when painted with the hues of dusk.  “It’s getting dark.  I should go.”

“Where are you going?”

“Meridian.”  His question catches her off balance, enough to win an answer from her.  She’s usually the one asking questions.  He seems to believe he knows her already.  Aloy never bothers to correct him in his assumptions.  

He hums.  “You’re a long way from Meridian.” 

“I got sidetracked,” Aloy says with a shrug. 

His dark brows quirk upward.  “An explorer, how exciting.  Come share my fire.  We can talk about our latest kills.”

They are partners in bandit killing and nothing else and Aloy would like to keep it that way.  The idea of sharing a fire and companionship with someone who is so obviously dangerous and maybe even little unhinged seems unwise.  She wonders what Rost would have done and shifts her feet, indecisive.

Nil shrugs carelessly and walks off in the direction of the camp he set up, unconcerned about whether she’ll follow.  “It’s just an offer.”

In the end, she follows him.  She thinks that it’s not what Rost would have done because it’s not sensible, but her curiosity is like an itch that needs a scratch.

As they settle on opposite sides of the campfire, Aloy watches, fascinated despite herself as he begins to take his armor off.  He catches her watching and his lips curve up into a faint mocking smile.  He slides his armor off a bit slower, a provocative little striptease, a daring glint in his eyes.  Aloy holds his gaze, half in defiance, and when he’s done, she takes off her own armor with very little ceremony and sees his lip twitch as though he’s trying not to laugh. 

Without his armor, his bow, he seems almost normal, and it catches her off guard.  His hair is soot black underneath his flashy helmet, unevenly cut.  She imagines that he must have done it himself with a knife.  He’s a lot less bulky without his armor, but still, well-fed and solidly built with a leanness that comes with hard living, not someone she would like to fight close up. 

He’s sizing her up as well, she can tell.  But with or without her armor, she too is dangerous.  Giant machine beasts have already bowed to her bow and spear.  She strips their sparking carapaces of wires and parts and wears their armored shells as a second skin.  What little fear within her had died with Rost.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, first to break the silence.

“Hunting.”  Nil’s eyes flash in the firelight.  It needs little explaining; she is familiar with the type of hunts he likes.

“I didn’t think there was a bandit camp all the way out here.”  She watches Nil fletch arrows across the fire. 

“Unfortunately, there isn’t.  Just ambushes on the road.”  Nil crafts arrows with the efficiency of a skill that has been in long use.  His hands are calloused and capable, long fingered, and dexterous.  They keep moving even as he looks up at her.  “The Voice of Our Teeth has yet to really sing, so don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything.”

Her eyes stray to his bow.  “Why do you call it, ‘Voice of Our Teeth’?”

He looks up from whittling a red feathered shaft.  “Aren’t you familiar with that sound?  When you have a wound that hurts so good that you have to clench your teeth to keep your spirit from leaving your body in a scream.” 

He leans forward, teeth bared in a tight grin and grinds his back molars together.  The sound is awful, like two warped metal plates rubbing together.  It’s also eerily reminiscent of that peculiar sound-feel of a tightening bow string.

“That’s what it sounds like,” he says, still grinning and pats his bow fondly.  “Have you named your bow yet?

Aloy makes a face.  “No.” 

Nil heaves a sigh.  “I’d say you have no poetry in your soul,” he gives her a long assessing look across the fire, “but I’ve seen you move.”

Aloy turns away, a little irritated by the flare of heat in her chest and begins straightening her bedroll.  Sensing their exchange is over, Nil places his finished arrows in his quiver and leaves the campsite, leaving Aloy to ruminate in front of the fire. She chews some stringy dried turkey, rinses her mouth out with water mixed with a bit of salt and chalk and lays down in her bedroll. 

She reflects as she does most nights, upon Rost. 

 _“Why did you call me Aloy,”_ she’d asked him once and he’d answered, _“Aloy, for the strength that metals take on when different kinds are melted together and made anew.”_

But here in a strange land, she doesn’t feel quite so strong.  She feels alone.  She misses the cool forests and familiarity of Nora land but most of all, she misses Rost who is the only home she ever knew.  She misses the way he’d smile with his eyes and not his mouth, the pride like steel in the unbent line of his back, his stern tutelage and quiet support, and a million other things she wishes she had taken the time to appreciate.  Grief still hits her in the quiet moments, sharp edged and raw.  In the last moments of his life, Rost had showed her, beyond a shadow of doubt just how much he loved her.  Aloy can only hope that he knew how much she loved him back. 

 _I will make you proud.  I’ll live my life in a way that would make it worthy of your sacrifice_ , she thinks. 

Nil comes back, freshly washed. 

Aloy drags her spear a little closer to her bedroll.  “I shouldn’t have to warn you to stay on your side of the fire.  If you approach me while I’m sleeping, you’re going to get trampled.”  The Strider standing sentinel over her picks this moment to snort and toss its head.

“How little you think of me, partner,” Nil says lowly, with his hand over his heart.  “But I see trust must be earned.  That’s fair.  You’ll stay on your side as well?”

Aloy scoffs.  “Of course!”

He gives her a small smile and throws another piece of wood into the crackling flames.  “A pity.  It’s warmer over here.”

She gives him a stony look but his eyes have already turned to the fire.  In the end, Aloy decides to ignore it as she has with every other flirtation or advance that she’s had on the road.

As she drifts off to sleep, she thinks of the image of the woman she saw in her Focus, the one whose likeness she bears.  She dreams of standing in front of a mother that never knew her, standing tall and proud of her own strength, making her answer the questions that haunt her the most.

oOooOooOo

The next time they meet, it’s far from his native land, in the cold of the north.  She’s there on a search for answers.  He’s there on a search for bandits.  They find each other at the base of the mountains, both drawn to the rising black smoke and tattered edges of a bandit encampment. 

He follows her into the tall grass, always so surprisingly silent for his size.  Nil is so close she can feel the whisper of breath on her shoulder, stirring her hair.  He smells of sun-warmed leather, of cedar and spice, and underneath it all, is the slight metallic tang of blood.  The scent of him fills the air of their shared space, and makes it feel so much smaller.  She can feel the warmth of him at her back, the impression of his solid body just behind her, so close his knees almost bracket her hips.  Something in her stomach twists. 

She ignores him and concentrates on marking out all the yellow signatures in the camp and when she’s done, she taps out her Focus and grips the hilt of her spear, expression grim.  Determination and resolve straighten her spine.  “They have prisoners.”  

Without looking at him, she knows his eyes are agleam with anticipation.  Bloodlust practically drips from his voice.  “They’re scum, of course they have prisoners.”

“For an ‘honest killer’, you make a lot of distinctions about those who are scum.”

Behind her, she hears the scrape of metal as he draws his nameless knife out of its sheath.  “Of course.  The only difference between us and them is that we don’t find sport in hunting the weak.  We only find sport in hunting the strong.”

“ _You_ find sport in it,”  she retorts, bristling as she half turns to face him.

“And you don’t?” 

“No, not at all,” she says firmly.  But unbidden, her mind thinks of machine hunts.  The joy that she finds after bringing down something big and powerful. 

“There’s no difference between us,” he says, giving her a knowing look.  “You think there is, but all men-” and at her look he adds, “-and women are alike.  Underneath our skin, we’re just blood, meat, and bone, no different from any beast.”

“People are complicated, Nil.  Not everyone is alike.”   _Not everyone is a killer._

“On the outside,” he agrees, eyes lingering on her hair, “but cut them open…”

Aloy gives him a disgusted look.  “So tell me, what’s to stop you from becoming a bandit yourself?” 

“Choices,” he says without hesitation.  “We define ourselves by our choices and create meaning and purpose in our lives through our actions.”  He jabs towards the bandit sprawl.  “They’ve made the choice to prey on the weak and defenseless.  The consequence is clear: their lives are now forfeit.  They’ve become prey.”  The slice of his grin is fierce and sharp.  Hungry.  “I’d much rather be the one doing the hunting.” 

Aloy wonders if that’s the truth he had come across in a dark cell at Sunstone Rock. 

He follows her lead just like before, like always, since they first met.  Their movements are smooth and seamlessly synchronized, like two well oiled gear wheels whose teeth fit together just so.  They grind into the camp like demons of fire and death and the bandits crumple before them like grass under a Grazer.

It’s midday when they begin and close to dusk when they’re done.  And so it is, that Aloy finds herself sharing camp with Nil, once more.  He has perfect road manners, so she finds that she doesn’t mind; she’s shared her fire with worse travelers on the road.

“Say, why don’t we make a wager?” Nil asks, after they get the fire going.

She gives him a wary look.  “What kind of wager?”

“I’m curious to see which of us is faster, more skilled.”  He pauses to see if she’s on board.

Aloy doesn’t really like where this is going but she’s willing to give it a chance, if only to satisfy her own curiosity.  “Go on,” she says cautiously, “what are you proposing?”

“A contest,” he says twirling his knife absently in his hand.  “We’re both in need of food.  Let’s see who is the better hunter.”

Aloy pretends to consider it, even though the competitive part of her is already urging her to agree.  “And the prize?” 

There’s a laughing lilt in his low voice, a look of approval in his eyes as they sweep over her face.  “I thought the prize would be the pride of victory. Shall we wager our lives instead?”

At Aloy’s deep frown, he sighs.  It’s difficult for her to tell whether he’s joking.

“Very well, let’s say the winner gets to eat and the runner-up gets to cook.  Are these acceptable terms?  Are we agreed?”  Nil holds his hand out.

Aloy raises an eyebrow, let’s him hang a little bit, but he merely waits patiently, so assured she’ll accept.  Finally, she clasps her hand in his, and he hauls her to her feet.  She stumbles a bit too close.  The back of her knuckles touch the bare skin of his chest.  She’s close enough that she sees the the sweep of individual hairs in his dark lashes, casting shadows over the twin circles tattooed under his eyes.

“May the best hunter win,” he says and means it earnestly.  The hard glint of challenge in his eyes means that he’s taking this contest seriously. 

Aloy pulls her hand away, flexes her fingers into a fist, and gives him a tight-lipped smile.  “I look forward to Carja cooking.”  His laughter rings in her ears long after they both melt away into the forest. 

She resists the urge to run.  That would scare off game.  Rost’s voice echoes in her mind, just as strongly as though he were standing behind her, counseling patience.  Tension hums under her skin and she realizes quite suddenly that she wants to win. 

They never specify what game to bring back, only the first to carry back meat wins.  She passes up a fox, a turkey, even a goose.  They are easy shots, easy game to catch. She knows that if she goes back first, even with only a rabbit, Nil would honor the win and say nothing about the quality of the meat.  But her hunter’s pride won’t let her bring back a meager meal, just as she would never consider using her Focus to give her an advantage. 

So, she avoids Watchers’ paths and stalks through the undergrowth, with the patience and intent that no machine possesses until she comes upon her quarry in a clearing.  A boar roots in the leaves of the forest, searching for mushrooms.  Aloy feels the wind shifting, nocks two arrows in her bow and draws it to the full tension. 

The boar’s head snaps up.  What boars lack in eyesight, they make up for in smell.  It scents her and turns to run, but too late.  Her arrows fly true, and she drops it before it can take a step to flee. 

She hefts it over her shoulders and makes her way back to the fire as quickly as she can.  Her heart is in her throat the entire time and when she sees no red feathered helmet by the fire, Aloy closes her eyes and takes a moment to catch her breath.  The tension thrumming under her skin like a plucked bowstring dissipates like lightning in the air and she feels light with victory. 

She’s already cleaning and skinning the boar when Nil arrives with his own boar over his shoulder.  “Oh good, more meat,” she says with a cheeky grin. 

Something nameless flashes in his eyes, quick and silver when he sees her.  “So, she’s faster than me, after all,” he murmurs.

Aloy wonders if he is the type of man who would be a poor sport, but Nil doesn’t seem at all upset he lost.  Instead he seems thrilled, looking at Aloy like she might look at a machine that shows her something new. 

She looks on approvingly as he saves the viscera, the heart, lungs, and liver to cook.  She’s shared her fire with Carja hunters in the wilds before and finds them to be wasteful as a rule, turning up their refined noses at organ meat. 

The rest of the meat, he sets aside and prepares using a variety of spices he pulls from a pouch that she’s appalled to realize doesn’t contain healing herbs after all.  He throws them all on a flat rock over red hot coals.  The meat sizzles, throwing off the scent of aromatic spices as they slowly cook.

The boar ribs finish first and wordlessly, they split the rack between them.  She has already picked clean her boar ribs, but when she looks across the fire, she sees that Nil is still eating.  Aloy has never seen someone eat so slowly with such small mincing bites.  It’s fascinating to witness this part of him that’s oh-so-human.  When he catches her watching, he pauses and offers up his share.

She makes a face.  “No thanks.  I’ve had enough.”

“Full already?” he asks.  “Did you even taste it?”

Aloy pokes at the fire with a stick, stirring up some the heat of the coals.  “Meat is meat.  It was good, filling.”  The food has quelled that empty space in her stomach and that’s all that matters.

He puts his ribs down, and licks the fat slowly off his fingers, not breaking eye contact with her.  It’s vaguely obscene, but she refuses to look away. “You don’t seem to enjoy food.”

Aloy shrugs.  “I eat to live.  People who live to eat soon become soft and weak.” 

The pointed comment earns a laugh.  “I am neither soft nor weak,” he says and extends his arms out to either side as if inviting her to take a look. Aloy knows he is not boasting, merely stating a fact and narrows her eyes to keep her gaze from wandering down that slash of skin where his vest parts at the front. 

The wind picks up and whirls embers of fire up into the air between them, sparking brightly like shooting stars before dying out in the dark of night.  Nil leans forward.  “You’re talking about overindulgence.  There’s nothing wrong with enjoying food.”

Aloy smiles wryly.  “And here I thought you sustained yourself through bandit killing.”

“Ah, wouldn’t that be a glorious life?” he says with relish.  “But, in between, when I've sated the thirst for spilling the blood of scum, I have have to satisfy my other appetites.  I’m only human.” 

Aloy wrinkles her nose.  “Okay, so you like to eat, got it.  Any other important details you’d like to share?”  It hasn’t escaped her notice that he’s as adept at deflecting questions as he is at deflecting blows, always honest but never answering outright.  Nil is like a black box that she’d like to pry open, if she weren’t so certain that there’s no bottom, or if there is, it’s covered in blood and entrails, things she doesn’t want to see. 

“I don’t just like to eat, I like to enjoy it.  I like to enjoy everything that I do.  Haven't you ever enjoyed anything?” 

The look he gives her is searching and intent, snags at her somewhere deep inside.  He looks at her the way she imagines she looks through her Focus, studying her to see what’s under her skin, into her inner workings.  He looks at her like he’s trying to figure what drives her- her strengths and weaknesses.

At her silence, he rubs his chin thoughtfully, blunt nails scraping over rough stubble. “Let me phrase it another way- how do you hunt?  Do you rush in and end it before it has even begun?  Or do you stalk patiently, waiting for the right moment, so confident in your skill that you draw out the tension tight as rope ties before making your strike?”

She sighs and shakes her head.  “Why do you even bother asking?”  By now, he knows her style just as she knows his.

The curve of his mouth twists into a crescent of a grin, thin and teasing.  He plucks a piece of seasoned fatty boar belly off of the hot rock and sprinkles something extra on it.  “Try it,” he says, quietly.  “Eat it slowly; savor it.  You’ll never have another boar like this one."

The aroma makes her mouth water anew and Aloy takes the proffered boar with a quirk of her lips.  “Nil, I hate to break it to you, but there are plenty of boar in this forest.  They breed like pests.”

“True, true, there are plenty of boar...but there will never be another boar exactly like this one.”  He gestures to the boar meat cooking over the fire.  “You hunted this boar, killed it yourself to win a contest of skill.  Enjoy it.  Doesn’t victory taste sweet?”

She hesitates for just one moment before taking a bite.  The flavor of the boar explodes on her tongue.  Whatever herbs he’d used gives the meat a peppery, smoky flavor that rises up through her palate and tickles her nasal passages.  There are more spices on this one piece of meat than she’s ever had her entire life.  It’s unlike anything she’s ever tasted.  She resolves to take a closer look at Meridian’s market the next time she passes by. 

Nil sits back and drinks in her wide eyed gaze.  “How is it?”

“Spicy!” she says, fanning her mouth.

“And?”  There’s a demanding note in his voice, a sly curve to his mouth.

“Good.  Very good.”  She’s unable to think of any adjective that suits and hangs her head in shame at the laugh that follows. 

“So...by your reasoning,” she says, once she’s recovered her wits, and unable to resist a jab, “does that mean you enjoyed the taste of your defeat?”

He looks up from smoke-drying the rest of the meat; they have more than two can reasonably eat.  There’s an unreadable expression on his face. 

“It’s not always about victory or defeat.  A fight should be a thrilling experience, a great sport to be savored,” he says, dipping his chin down and canting her an unreadable look.  “You felt it, during the hunt, didn't you?  The delicious uncertainty of two evenly matched opponents.” 

“You’re not my opponent, Nil,” she says softly.  And it’s true.  She doesn’t consider him an adversary, but her heart had pounded anyway during the hunt, during all their hunts.  Sometimes, when they look at each other across cooling bandit corpses, and there is nothing else left to kill, there’s a moment, a space between breaths where anything can happen and it’s only when he puts away his blade that she can unclench her fingers from her bow.

“Ouch.”  He touches his sternum with his fingertips.  “Tongue as sharp as a blade.  Still, I enjoy these moments.  Too soon they’ll be gone, like blood in the rain.  I’m looking forward to our next contest.” 

“Sure,” she says airily, “maybe you’ll even win.” 

For a man who is so dangerous, Aloy thinks that he has quite a warm laugh. 

oOooOooOo

They meet again and again, both drawn to strife like Glinthawks are drawn to scrap metal.  Aloy declines Nil’s last offer of a contest, a duel to the death.  It pains her that Nil has such a cavalier disregard for the value of human life, including his own.  When she climbs down that mesa, she feels a moment of sadness.  Nil has no one and nothing to fight for save his own pleasure and enjoyment. 

It’s a surprise to see his red feathered helm on the eve of the battle for Meridian.  The way he says her name is low and intimate, vowels rolling off his tongue as though he’s tasting something new.  It sparks something pleasant in her, an ember of warmth she holds close to her heart.  More people have come to her side than she ever would have expected.  When she looks around her, she is surrounded by friends.

She wonders what Rost would’ve thought and she hopes that he would have been proud of her.  She has found her place, and it’s not with one tribe but with all of humanity.  When she climbs the Alight, it’s with her heart in her throat and the weight of the world pressing on her shoulders.  When she faces HADES, she is not alone. 

And then between one moment and the next, the fight is over. 

The city that had once called her a savage now hails her as their saviour and the adulation is almost harder to take than scorn because she is so unused to it.  After the initial thrill of victory dies down, during the whirl of celebration that follows, Aloy declines the many offers to make a home among people who have become so very dear to her.  There is still so much to do, so many unanswered questions.  Aloy says goodbye to her friends, and slips away quietly. 

It’s only outside, away from the city and the press of people that she can breathe.  Nil finds her at a campsite just outside of Meridian.  A rustle of grass, a snap of twigs has her jumping, bow nocked and ready for the kill.  He stills, motionless, just outside the ring of light.  They stare at each other across the fire, just a beat and when she lowers her bow, the tension is still thick in the air. 

“Nil.  You’re alive.”  Aloy isn’t really surprised.  He’s a survivor, like her.  Her eyes sweep over him, notes the bruises, cuts, and abrasions on the places where the armor didn’t protect.  Silver metal shards still glint on his skin along his neck and the underside of his jaw. 

“Yes,” he says, “I seem to outlive all the wars.”  The way he says that is regretful.  “I wanted to thank you.  What a glorious battle you had brought to me!  The the Voice of Our Teeth sang songs that still ring sweetly in my ears.” 

Aloy tracks him warily.  “I’m glad you’re alive.  But if you’re looking for another fight, I’ll oblige.  I’ll kill you...and maybe even regret it.”  It’s almost reckless, this tacit offer.  She almost anticipates he’ll agree.  She ought to be exhausted post-battle, but instead there’s a restlessness that eats away at her insides like corruption. 

He tilts his head, considering her.  There’s an unreadable expression on his face and he steps closer to the fire, close enough to Aloy that her nerves twinge in alarm. 

He holds his hands up in a gesture of peace.  “No, no...I haven’t come here for that,” he says with a deep sigh.  “You rejected me once- the moment has passed.  I don’t like to force.” 

Aloy frowns.  She feels coiled like a Stalker waiting to spring.  “Then what do you want?” she asks.  Instead of being put off, he grins.  A sharp flash of teeth in the firelight.

“I’m concerned for my partner,” he replies with an easy shrug.

Aloy scoffs.  “Concerned?”  She doesn’t like the mocking tone in her own voice.  “We’re not partners.”  There are no more bandits left to kill after all. She wonders if he’s really here because he’s lonely. 

“You seem tense,” he says, eyes traveling to her hand which is curled into a tight fist.  “I know the feeling,” he continues, “like knives prickling under your skin, trying to cut their way out.  It’s like that after a long battle.  The emptiness of the battlefield grates like a file across your senses. You’re looking for that one last kill, the feel of release like an arrow loosened from a bow.”

It shames her to admit that he might be right about her after all.  “This peace is what we fought for,” she says, setting her jaw firmly.

He hums.  “Regrettably so.”  Another step brings him yet closer into her space.  His eye sockets are smudged in shadow.  Soft firelight throws strange shadows across his face.  The way he pauses, dips his red plumed head almost seems shy but when he looks back up the expression on his face is fierce and hungry.  “There are other ways to relieve tension.”

Underneath the polite words and cool tone of his voice is a question, and Aloy has never been one to leave questions unanswered.  It’s important to ask the right questions though, and something in her demands to know. 

“Show me,” she says and knows this is the right answer as a flash of desire blazes incandescent across his normally cool face.  It makes something low in her stomach twist, heats her blood to see it.

“I wonder what you truly hunger for...is this really what you want?” he asks softly.  He brings a hand up slowly, as though she were something fierce that might bite.  She watches in wary fascination as the muscles bunch up in his arm, but all he does is card his hand through her hair, thumb brushing across her cheekbone.  His nails dance across her scalp in one long scrape and she shivers.  Strange to think that of the many times they’ve met, he’s never touched her quite like this. 

The avaricious pull of his fingers in her hair tells Aloy that maybe he’s thought about it.  Maybe he’d always wondered.  She’d be a liar if she said that she wasn’t ever curious; it’s just she could never really afford to be distracted.

She brings her hand up, and fists it slowly in his silky red scarf, unsure of whether to push or pull.  “I don’t like to repeat myself.  Are you empty words or action?” 

He throws his head back and laughs.  His hand curls into a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and his other hand wraps around her hip pulling her flush against him.  Her armor grinds against the plates at his belt.  “I’m always authentic in word and deed,” he says and tilts her chin up for a kiss the same time she tugs on his scarf.

His lips are soft, and a little wind chapped.  It’s almost chaste, the gentle press and pressure of his warm lips against hers.  For a moment, Aloy wonders- _For all the mystery,_ _is this it?  Is this all?_  It’s only mildly pleasant and she finds herself disappointed because she doesn’t want pleasant right now.  Their eyes are open, and Nil’s expression is devoid of anything except a heated curiosity and anticipation.  He’s waiting...or testing...to see what she’ll do next and all she feels is fierce defiance in the face of his restraint because she knows that he only holds himself back against opponents who are unworthy of his full strength.

A growl of frustration rises in her throat and she winds the scarf around her fist, pulls hard.  Nil’s eyes widen in surprise and then darken into molten steel.  He smiles into the kiss, slants his mouth over hers a little differently and this time he slicks his tongue into her mouth and swallows her little gasp of surprise. 

The open-mouthed kiss is something fierce, wet, and messy.  It makes her feel young and inexperienced again, learning how to hunt, clumsy and ungraceful as she follows his lead.  The smug satisfaction on his face sparks something fierce and fearless inside her.  She nips him on the bottom lip, a warning. 

Nil pulls back with a hiss, the tip of his tongue flicking out to touch the spot where she bit before dragging his bottom lip across his teeth.  His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded.  “Patience, patience...we should savor it -”

“Because we only get this one time,” she says, liking the hint of rough sand in his normally smooth voice, liking the way it reverberates inside her. 

“Unless...”  He smiles, mischievous and sly as he takes her armor off, deft fingers untying the knots as swift and sure as an arrow’s flight. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Aloy mutters as she slips his armored vest off his shoulders, tugs that ridiculous helmet off his head.  His skin is golden and warm and he’s all firm muscle under the press of her palms.  The sun has baked freckles onto the tops of his sturdy shoulders.  She spares a moment to imagine what might happen once their armor and clothes come off.  Her heart is pounding fast and something reckless and urgent rises up in her and makes her want to tear into him with her teeth and nails.

But Nil seems to be in no hurry whatsoever.  He’s as thorough as he is methodical, and Aloy writhes like caught prey as he uncovers her, bares her inch by inch and explores her with his calloused hands and his hot mouth, drawing out the anticipation tight, tight, tight.  They learn each other by touch, like those who lack sight.  Her fingertips trace the ridges of jagged old wounds that have hardened into scars, the only trophies he ever keeps.  She finds an electric thrill in the way his stomach muscles tighten and shiver under her hands, the quiet groan he makes against her chest when her thumbs trace his hip bones. 

He catches her wrist in his large hand before she can do more than dip her fingertips into the sash at his waist.  She leans into him to taste the light salt of his skin at the hollow notch between his collarbones.  The way his breath catches in his throat makes heat bloom in her belly. 

“You and I...we are beasts.  What is in me, calls to what is in you.” Nil says, as he runs his teeth along a tendon in her neck. 

Aloy finds that she can’t quite disagree.  She can’t quite find the words for anything, not when Nil is bending into her touch as her nails dig half moons into his shoulder, nor when he has slipped his hand down the front of her unlaced pants, skimming his fingertips against her, or when he makes a noise like something wounded and tells her that she’s wetter than the jungles of the Jewel. 

When Nil kneels down to peel her pants and underclothes off, he doesn’t come back up.  Instead, he rubs his cheek against the inside of her thigh, tickling her with his stubble.  He breathes one hot breath against her, and sets his mouth over her slick heated skin.

It’s a feather light touch, but just like that, her legs don’t seem to want to hold her weight, not when he’s tasting her and looking up with eyes that are bright and wicked with lust.  Aloy goes down gasping, her body stunned by the flick of his tongue, feeling like she had tripped her own shock wire. 

Cool grass tickles the sides of her breasts and there’s a pebble that digs into her spine but Aloy doesn’t mind any of that.  Nil has captured her legs under under his arms and spans one tan long-fingered hand against her belly, holding her still, refusing her the leverage she needs to shift her hips.  His other hand is at her knee, keeping her legs spread at the width of his broad shoulders.  The way he moves his mouth against her is soft, slow, sweet, like he’s teasing out the moment.  It’s everything she never expected in Nil, who is all sharp smiles, hard angles, and bloodlust. 

And then everything changes as he curls a one finger inside her then another, slick and easy.  He strokes her just once, hard.  Her heart thuds sharply in her chest and she is dizzy and breathless with pleasure. 

Her back arches, tight as a bowstring and one hand digs into the grass while the other is fisted in his dark hair.  Her bottom lip slips out from between her teeth and some unrecognizable sound escapes her before she can clamp her mouth shut. 

It’s the first sound she’s made this entire time, aside from heavy breathing and he seems captivated by it.  Their gazes lock across the expanse of her body and he sits back on his haunches, fingers leaving her on a slow agonizing glide as he brings them up to his gleaming lips and slowly licks them clean.  Then he prowls up her body, languid and dangerous as a Sawtooth.  Just like a Sawtooth, she sees danger in his eyes, in the strange bareness of his gaze.  This is an extension of what had happened at the mesa overlooking the Spearshafts, except death or kill isn’t his objective; it’s maybe something else just as dangerous. 

It’s a new experience to be hunted like this.  Aloy doesn’t like it.  Her eyes track him warily as he lowers his head.  There’s an impression of teeth in her peripheral vision and she tries not to shiver as his breath ghosts across her neck. 

“Say the word, and I’ll sink my spear in you,” he murmurs, lips at the shell of her ear, “wound you so deeply that you’ll never forget who drew first blood.” 

She feels Nil stroking himself, knuckles brushing over her on every downstroke, A deep delicious ache is unfurling low in her belly, between her legs and spreading out to her limbs.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.  “Every time you open your mouth, you ruin a moment.”

His lips twist into a roguish smile.  “You weren’t complaining about my mouth a moment ago.”

The look of satisfaction in his eyes makes her want to reach for a rock, instead she flips him, pins him hard underneath her, her forearm on his windpipe. 

“That’s because you weren’t using your mouth to talk,” she retorts as she rakes her nails down his chest, following the ripple of muscles and the trail of dark hair down to where he is hard and impossibly hot. 

His choked laugh turns into a groan, something heady and a little desperate, an animal sound from the back of his throat. 

She strokes him like she saw him do and holds his gaze, fearless and unflinching.  Nil waits patiently as she explores his body, lets her satisfy her curiosity.  His pupils have all but swallowed the color of his eyes.  They’re like two holes yawning into an abyss, each surrounded by just a thin ring of silver.  If she’s a touch hesitant, he doesn’t comment on it.

His hands twitch toward her thighs and she gives him a heated look, a warning in pressure applied to his throat. 

“Show me what you’re capable of,” he says, voice so low, she feels the purr of it through his chest.  His eyes are heavy-lidded, and they glint with a challenge- hunter to hunter. 

Arms wide to either side, he is waiting for her first strike, letting her set the pace.  His muscles tremble with the force of restraint like a large machine beast held down by rope ties ready to burst free.

Slowly, so as to draw out the anticipation, she grips him hard and brings him to the seam of her body.  The length of him presses into her like a hot knife.  She lowers herself onto him, mindful of the stretch and the sting, eased by the slickness of her own body.  When the backs of her thighs meet his lap, she takes a moment to sit there, mounted on top of him, savoring the delicious picture of him underneath her. 

Aloy sits up, knees planted in the grass on either side of his narrow hips, and tilts her face to the stars above.  She takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly, breathing out the spicy scent of Nil and woodsmoke from her lungs.

“Careful,” he says, voice a low, rough rasp, “if you don’t want a child-”

“The Nora, we don’t have children that we don’t want.  If you ever get a child, it won’t be from me.  It would never be from me,” she answers as blunt as always.  If he were Nora, he’d recognize the insult in her words.

“Good,” he says, as his grip tightens on her her hips hard enough to leave an imprint, “then I won’t hold back.” 

Guided by his hands, she sets an easy pace, chasing a pleasurable feeling that’s both nebulous and elusive.  Nil meets the roll of her hips with tiny movements of his own, and she thrills to feel the muscles in his thighs tighten with each movement.  His face is absent of the usual sly grin, but there is a sort of strange vulnerability in the honest desire she sees in his eyes, the flush of color going up his chest.  They rock against each other, bodies moving to kinetic melodies that drive the heat higher and higher between them.

Nil makes a noise and arches his spine.  His hips buck like a Broadhead, and he curls up, arms wrapping behind her back until his hands are at her shoulders pulling her down harder.  The muscles in his stomach are taut and hard, his whole body seems to tense and flex, and she can see the cords in his neck, up to his clenched jaw where he is breathing hard through his teeth. 

For a moment, Aloy catches a glimpse of herself in his hazy eyes and thinks she understands him just a little bit.

The rising thrum of blood still pounds hard in her ears as he brings his hand between their sweat-slicked bodies and finishes her off with his fingers.  Her nerves spark like live wire, she’s electric under her skin.  Pleasure crests sharp and fierce, like blazefire ignited in her blood, she burns so hot and bright that even the stars seem to dim for a moment. 

Later, she’s too bone-tired to make him sleep on the opposite side of the fire.  He curls up behind her in her sleeping skins and she allows him.  She has come to trust in his sense of honor, black though it may be.  But when he puts his arm around her, she jumps. 

“Is this not preferred?” he asks, his voice and breath a whisper of air across her shoulder blades. 

 _What are you doing?_ she wants to ask him.  But she feels every cut, scrape, and bruise from her battles standing out on her skin, and she is just too weary to ask questions that lead her to answers she doesn’t want to know. 

“Just go to sleep,” she says and pretends not to notice when he relaxes against her and brushes a feather light kiss where the line of her spine meets her neck.

oOooOooOo

Aloy wakes slowly to gentle sunlight slanting rays of warmth across her face.  For a moment, she wants to give in to the urge to curl into the warmth of her sleeping roll, to just listen to the soft crackling of the campfire, the rising birdsong in the trees and enjoy the rare peace.  But her sleeping skins still smell like Nil.  She sits up carefully and stretches sore muscles, wincing as she drags her hand through her matted hair. 

Aloy tries in vain to comb through the worst of the tangles.  A remnant of last night’s heat rises in her as she remembers the thrust of Nil’s fingers as they wound through her hair and pulled.  The man himself is nowhere to be seen but by the fireside there is a dish with boar meat, the fatty belly part and some maize cake that the Carja seem to favor.  At the foot of the bedroll is her armor, bow, and quiver, all stacked neat as you please.  His pack is next to hers, along with his nameless knife, but his bow is missing.  He must not have gone far.

As she pulls her armor over her tunic and breeches, she wonders what creeps her out more - surprisingly considerate gestures from Nil or the fact that she slept through while he was moving about in camp.  She’s relieved that she spared the awkwardness of waking up next to him, that he’s given her space to gather herself.  Last night seems a fever dream in the crisp light of day.  After she has dressed, packed, and eaten, she follows Nil’s tracks to a nearby hill that overlooks a valley below. 

He rises to his feet when he hears her approach.  For a moment, they do nothing but breathe in comfortable silence and watch the machines milling about in the valley. 

“Peaceful,” she says quietly.

“It never lasts,” he responds, stretching lazily.

Aloy sighs.  “There you go, ruining the moment again.” 

“I only speak from experience,” he says with a little smile.

“Where will you go now?” she asks watching his profile, eyes tracing the angle of his jaw. 

Nil looks up from unwinding his scarf, which is loose in his hands.  “South, I suppose.  There’s a bandit clan that is rumored to be gathering near Utaru plains-land.  The Utaru have no real defenses to speak of, no armies.  They’re mostly farmers, not fighters- easy targets for scum.”

Aloy smiles just a bit.  “Careful, if you keep saving people from bandits, they might just start calling you a hero.” 

He makes a face of mild chagrin.  “I hope not.  I like to live honestly.”  After a pause, he adds in a low conspiratorial tone, “We’d both know better, wouldn’t we?” 

“I don’t know Nil,” Aloy says, and turns her face towards the east, where the sun is rising red and bright, like an angry Watcher’s lens. 

After a beat of silence, Nil asks, “And where will your hunt take you?”

“Elsewhere and everywhere,” she says borrowing a phrase from Sylens.  “West, maybe.” 

“Too bad,” Nil says softly, with a sidelong glance, “you’ll miss out on the fun in the South.”

“You see that line?  Where the land meets the sky?”  Aloy points to the horizon.  “That’s where I always want to be.”

Nil’s line of sight follows her finger for a moment before going to her face.  He tilts his head, considering her, eyes straying to her rucksack.  “You have the wilderness inside,” he says, tapping his chest.  “It calls to you like the beat of war drums in your blood.  I can tell.”

“Yeah,” she says turning towards Nil.  The wind tugs at her hair and she brushes it away from her face.  “Time for me to go.” 

The line of his mouth is soft and there is something almost wistful in his eyes.  “If our paths ever cross, perhaps I could convince you to join me in a hunt?”

Aloy quirks an eyebrow and places a hand on her hip.  “Maybe...if you never ask me for a duel again.” 

“Ah, you’re cold-hearted,” he slants her a mischievous grin that heats her blood, “but now that I’ve had a taste of what you’re truly capable of, I suppose we can amuse ourselves in other ways.”

“Wow…you are just unbelievable,” she mutters at a complete loss on how to respond.  Her face must be aflame; it feels like it. 

“Thank you,” Nil laughs. 

“Not a compliment,” she replies irritably.  “And on that note, I’m leaving.” 

Before she can turn and head down the slope of the hill, Nil pushes something soft into her hands.

“What’s this for?” she asks, giving him a suspicious look as she examines the scrap of fabric in her hands.  There’s a subtle sunburst pattern woven in the red silk cloth.  She has few such things in her rucksack, like the faded blue satin scarf she’d had since childhood, so threadbare and worn that she can neither bear to wear it nor part with it.  Not when it reminds her of the color of Rost’s eyes.

Nil merely sighs and pulls the fabric out of her hands.  It catches and snags at all her calluses and rough spots as it slips like water from between her fingers.  Slowly he winds it about her neck, lifting her hair out of the way.  Then he steps back.

“Why?” she asks, throat feeling as dry as bone.  The cool fabric is already warming against her skin.

The look on his face is inscrutable.  “Red is your color,” he finally says with a shrug.

Aloy makes a face and crosses her arms.   _No, it’s your color_ , is what she wants to say _._  Instead she says, “I prefer blue.”

“Now you’re just being contrary.”

Aloy looks away a moment so he can’t see her smile.  “You going to look strange without your scarf.” 

“I’ll get another one.  Yellow...or maybe I’ll try blue.”

Aloy tries and fails to imagine him in something blue and then shakes her head.  “Blue is definitely not your color.” 

Nil neither agrees or disagrees with her, just dips his head down and gives her an enigmatic silver look.  “It could be,” he says evenly.

Aloy, who has no coyness in her can only blink at him in surprise, momentarily at a loss for words. 

His eyes trace her face one more time and it feels like a caress.  “Safe travels, Aloy,” he says softly before turning and walking away with a salute. 

Bemused, she watches him until his red vest disappears among the trees.  Then she turns towards the west, mind already on the herd of Striders grazing below. 

The space between a question and an answer- that’s where Aloy belongs.  On a search for answers is where she feels most at home.  There is so much more yet to be discovered, secrets buried in the ashes of the old world.  The other sub-functions are still out there after all, and she needs to figure out a way to repair Gaia.  The title of Seeker has never been so fitting. 

With a Strider beneath her, the wind whipping her hair back, and the landscape unfurling before her like a scroll, her heart feels light, fierce, and free as an uncaged beast.  She rides hard for the west, underneath a vast and boundless sky that stretches all the way to the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, this was a monster! I think I edited out about 1000+ words and it's still really huge. Overall, I am pleased with it even though I think the freeform thing is kind of overdone. I started the story that way and was just too lazy to go back and change everything. I haven't written anything to completion in a couple years so I am very, very rusty!
> 
> I wanted to write Aloy and Nil parting at the end because I really like bittersweet endings and I can't really see Nil being a long-term serious partner for her because of their fundamental differences and interests. He would really have to change quite a bit for it to work out. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> *Edited for mistakes.*


End file.
